Breaking Up Is Hard to Do
by Chapin CSI
Summary: Slash. Break-up stories w/happy endings, unrelated except where indicated. NEW: BUIHTD at a Hospital. G&G's relationship's on shaky ground after a break-up. NEW: An awkward conversation with Greg's grandmother leads to an admission.
1. BUIHTD At Greg's home Part 1

Breaking up is… 

This is a new collection of stories, all about break-ups or near-break-ups. (Not that I intend to keep them apart; I just want to make them suffer a little!)

* * *

Story # 1 (title pending) 

Grissom rejects Greg's help in a case...

----------------

Part one

Greg drove down a dusty road, constantly peering out his side window. He was looking for The Rancho Chico Park and he didn't want to miss the entrance. The growing darkness was making it difficult for him to read the faded road signs, however; frankly, he wasn't sure if even taken the right road.

He needn't have worried, though. There were faint lights just ahead, and soon he was confronted by a couple of cops shining their flashlights on his face.

"The park is closed, sir. You'll have to drive back."

Squinting under the light, Greg showed them his ID. One of the cops recognized him and waved him through, while the second was careful to give him some instructions first.

"You're gonna have to leave your vehicle there, sir," he said, pointing to an area already occupied by police cars and ambulances. "Mr. Grissom had an emergency path cleared for all rescue personnel. Please, stick to it."

Greg nodded, although he hardly needed the instructions; he'd been in searches before.

He understood the cop's caution, though. Important evidence could be lost by people trampling around on the grounds.

Two teenagers -a boy and a girl- had disappeared the day before. Witnesses placed them at the entrance of the Rancho Chico Park, where they'd done some climbing and hiking before. According to a friend, the kids had returned to the park with the intention of making a video of their exploits. Unfortunately, they'd talked about filming in areas that were specifically closed to the public.

Rancho Chico wasn't exactly the safest place in Clark County; part of the city's sewage system ran underneath. If people stuck to the public paths, however, little trouble followed.

If people didn't stick to the rules, then anything could happen.

Greg grabbed his CSI vest and his kit before leaving his car. He dutifully took the emergency path, helped by his Maglite and the emergency lights held my rescue personnel. There were cops and EMT walking around, shouting instructions. The search was about to begin.

Greg looked around for a familiar face. He waved at Sara, who was talking to detective Vartan. A few feet away, he saw Grissom standing all alone, reading something from a clipboard, a serious expression on his face.

Greg walked up to him.

"Hey," he said.

Grissom looked up and frowned.

"What are you doing here?"

"I got the call," Greg said. "_'All personnel available…_'" his voice trailed off.

"The call was for personnel on duty," Gil replied in a slightly patronizing tone, "You're not on duty tonight."

"I know that, Grissom -"

"In fact, didn't I tell you to go home after Court?"

"Yes, you did, " Greg said patiently. He put his kit on the ground and started putting on his CSI vest. He kept talking all the while. "I had to go to the lab." He said, "There was all the evidence I used in Court –I couldn't very well take it home with me, right? And besides, you know how it is, if you don't immediately file documents -They start piling up."

With his vest on, he picked up his kit again and looked at Gil in the eye.

"I did good in court today by the way," he said, "Thanks for asking," and he actually paused in case Gil wanted to ask.

Grissom simply turned to his notes again. After a moment, he started checking items off a list.

"Anyway," Greg continued, "I was just leaving when I heard the call. I thought you and Sara would need an extra hand, so -"

Grissom shook his head.

"You've been up for two days now."

"I'm not tired," Greg said good-naturedly, "Besides, I've never been in this park before. I thought it would be nice to stroll down the woods under the moonlight; you know, just like in a date. After all, what am I gonna do all by myself in that big bed of mine?"

"I'm sure you can find something to do," Grissom muttered distractedly, "Sleep, for instance."

Greg frowned over this last remark.

"You're serious," he said, suddenly hit by the realization. "You really don't want me to stay."

Grissom looked up.

"No," he said simply. He kept his gaze on Greg, and it looked like he was simply waiting for the young man to turn and go.

Greg didn't move. He only stared back, his smile gradually fading.

When he spoke, it wasn't with a playful tone anymore.

"You know," he said, "I used to see you more often when I was still a lab rat."

"That's not true," Grissom said, looking down at his list again. "You come to my place all the time."

"And yet, I used to see you more often when I was still a lab rat." Greg repeated. He lowered his voice. "I come to your place but you're never there. And, in case you haven't noticed, we haven't worked together in weeks. You've been assigning me to Catherine or to Sara, or making me work solo -"

"I thought you liked working alone."

"That's Nick, not me!" Greg retorted, his temper raising, "And that's not the issue here, anyway. I'm offering you my help and you're not taking it."

Grissom look up sharply. He didn't say anything, though. Whenever somebody lost their temper, Gil was careful about what to say next.

"I appreciate your coming down here, Greg." He said evenly, "But you need the time off. I can't use a tired CSI in this type of operation."

"I'm not tired -"

"You've been up since Wednesday night -"

"So have you!"

"- and you can't work three shifts in a row."

"And _you_ can?"

"This isn't up for debate," Gil replied testily. "You just can't stay here."

"Oh, so you're giving me an order?"

"I'm your boss, so yeah, I'm giving you an order!"

They'd kept their voices alow all along, but their body language spoke of confrontation. They were face to face, their bodies tense. Greg realized, to his surprise, that his own hands were closed in fists.

He made a conscious effort to back off, and so did Grissom.

"Look. I know you want to help," Gil said gently, "But I can't let you stay." Before Greg could reply, he added, "I just don't want you to spend every waking hour on the job, Greg. You have a life outside the lab, too."

For a moment, Greg only stared at him.

He, too, chose his next words with care.

"You're supposed to be a part of that life now, Grissom."

Grissom's gaze dropped for a few seconds.

"Maybe it's time for you to start rethinking your options," he said quietly. He looked up. "Otherwise you'll wake up one of these days and find that your world has gotten smaller."

Greg was stunned. Clearly, he couldn't believe Grissom had just said that. He started to say something but stopped when he noticed someone approaching. To his surprise, it was David Hodges, making a big show of putting on rubber gloves and protective gear. He ignored Greg.

"I'm here, boss," said Hodges, adding in that unctuous manner of his, "Ecklie asked me to leave my lab in order to assist you in this moment of need. What can I do for you?"

"Go to Sara," Gil said curtly, "She'll explain it to you."

"With pleasure," Hodges replied, and he intentionally bumped against Greg as he walked away.

Greg looked incredulously at Grissom.

"You're letting _him_ help?"

"Him and a dozen interns," Grissom replied matter-of-factly.

"Interns?" Greg repeated in disbelief, "You're using _interns_ for this?"

"Yeah." And it was obvious that he didn't see anything wrong with any of this. He simply stared back, as if he couldn't understand what the big deal was.

As if he truly didn't know he was hurting Greg.

And maybe he truly didn't know.

But while Grissom might inadvertently hurt Greg, Greg knew how to push Grissom's buttons _on purpose_. He often did, though only to tease Gil. Pushing Gil's buttons in order to hurt him was something he'd never done.

Until tonight.

"You know what?" Greg said with barely repressed anger, "Maybe you're right. Maybe I need to spend more time away from the job -and from you. I mean, there's a dozen parties I could have gone to and didn't. Who knows? Maybe there's one on right now."

His words brought an immediate reaction from Gil. It was subtle, but Greg didn't miss it: Gil was clearly uneasy.

'Bull's eye,' Greg thought.

Of course, Gil didn't want him to go to a party; he wanted Greg to go home and sleep and then maybe go to some nice museum to unwind. Parties were places roamed by ex-boyfriends, and Gil didn't like the idea of his meeting an ex…

'Well, too bad,' Greg thought spitefully.

But his moment of triumph didn't last long. Deep down, he didn't want to go to a party and he didn't want to meet any ex-boyfriends. He just wanted to stay and help Grissom.

He gazed hopefully at Gil, who looked like he was debating with himself.

But before Gil could make a decision, they got interrupted yet again. A half-dozen fresh-faced boys and girls wearing PD sweat suits suddenly surrounded them, edging Greg out.

The kids were looking at Grissom with something close to worship. They had obviously heard a lot about Gil.

"Dr. Grissom?" said a perky young girl, "Captain Brass said you were going to tell us what to do."

Grissom glanced at Greg for one last time before he turned to the kids.

"We need your help tonight, guys," he said gravely, "We're looking for two kids who entered the park yesterday morning. We can't wait for daylight to begin our search; we need to start tonight. Now, I know you were chosen because you already had an introductory class on how to handle evidence," he paused, and the kids nodded eagerly.

"That's great," Gil said. "Let me remind you, however, that tonight you're here merely to observe," He glanced sternly at each one of them, "Remember: You are not to touch anything. Whatever you find, just place an evidence marker next to it -"

Greg took a step back, and his place was immediately taken by a cute kid who gazed adoringly at Grissom.

"Any questions?" Grissom asked, and the interns' hands shot up. They practically engulfed Grissom.

Greg turned and left.

* * *

TBC 


	2. BUIHTD At Greg's home Part 2

Breaking Up is Hard to Do…

…At Greg's home.

Part two.

Spoiler: On season 3, Gil told Sara that 'good intentions are fraught with disappointment,' but I can't remember the episode.

* * *

Grissom entered Greg's apartment and paused for a moment. He glanced around, looking for signs that Greg was home. The lights were off in the living room and, as far as he could see, they were off in Greg's room up in the loft too. 

Cautiously, Grissom felt for the key rack next to the door and noted with relief that Greg's key was there. It meant he was home.

Grissom almost put his own key on the rack but then decided not to. They had parted in less than cordial terms earlier that night, after all. He didn't know if he was going to stay. It depended on Greg.

Gil sighed. He was dreading the confrontation but there was no use in putting it off. Reluctantly, he turned to the narrow stairs leading to Greg's bedroom.

In the dark, he didn't notice the object on the floor until he stepped on it. It was soft, and Gil instinctively knew what it was even before he bent down to pick it up. It was Greg's leather jacket.

It wasn't the first time he found Greg's jacket on that same spot. And not only this jacket but others, too. And shirts.

It was just a little game of Greg's; he'd take off his jacket and toss it in the air, then take the rest of his clothes as he climbed the stairs, leaving a trail for Grissom, who would follow at a leisurely pace. By the time Gil reached the landing, Greg was always lying in bed, naked, with his hands under his head and a big grin on his face.

The memory of Greg's little game was painful for Gil, who couldn't help wondering if somebody else had followed Greg into his room tonight. His first impulse was to try to find out –he even climbed a couple of steps. He wanted to know –he needed to know- and as a scientist, he wasn't afraid of the truth, regardless of how unpleasant it might be…

But as a lover, he lacked the self-confidence.

Gil stopped in mid-step and after a moment's hesitation, returned to his former spot at the foot of the stairs.

He'd never considered the possibility that Greg might bring someone home with him, and now he didn't know what to do.

Idly, he looked at the jacket he was holding. It wasn't genuine leather (Greg was as politically correct as Sara), but it had a nice texture. It felt good in his hands –though not as good as it did when Greg was wearing it. Not so long ago, for instance, he'd been standing on this precise spot, holding Greg in his arms, enjoying the feel of the young man's muscles under the supple leather.

He remembered feeling Greg's cheek rubbing against his own too, and the young man's warm breath as he whispered something in his ear –but what? Gil couldn't remember the words, only that they'd made him laugh.

Grissom lifted the jacket and held it close to his face. He breathed in the scent of the leather, but he also sensed another, elusive and loved: Greg's. With a little effort, he could imagine he was holding Greg again, laughing at his nonsensical words...

In that moment, Gil realized all that he stood to lose.

He regretted not taking Greg's help earlier that night; he regretted everything he'd done lately, actually. It was true that he had acted with the best of intentions but hadn't he said once that the best intentions were fraught with disappointment? Why didn't he remember this before making a mess of his relationship?

Gil looked up in the bedroom's direction again. There were no sounds coming from there. There were other sounds, however, and they were coming from the street below. That was odd. Greg usually managed to block the sounds of traffic by closing all the windows.

Gil glanced into the living room again and discovered that the slide window was ajar. He frowned; it wasn't like Greg to be this careless. Shaking his head, he crossed the room to close the window. Before he did, however, he noticed there was somebody was out there on the balcony, sitting on Greg's new reclining chair.

Cautiously, Grissom peered outside, only to find that it was Greg himself out there.

Grissom noiselessly stepped onto the balcony. Greg was asleep under the thick afghan that Nana Olaf had knitted for him. He was comfortably lying on his pride and joy, the reclining chair he'd bought at a police auction; a man had died on it but this fact didn't put him off. It was a good chair; a bargain.

Gil noticed something on Greg's lap. A SkyScout. Greg had been obviously stargazing before exhaustion finally caught up with him.

Grissom quietly stood there, looking down at his boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

The word felt odd. He still found difficult it to admit that yes, he had a boyfriend. A boyfriend he loved... A boyfriend he kept pushing away…

Grissom sighed. It was almost inaudible, but the sound woke up Greg.

"Grissom," he muttered, even before he opened his eyes.

Grissom was amazed by how perceptive he was.

"Hey, Greg," he whispered.

The young man opened his eyes.

"Gil -" he said, and then he looked around in confusion, as if he couldn't remember how he got there. He looked at Grissom again. "What're you doing here?" He frowned. "You found the kids?"

Gil nodded.

"They ok?"

"Badly hurt but alive," Gil said quietly. "They'd fell into a ditch, just a few feet away from the sewage waters. We got there just in time."

Greg sighed in relief. Then he closed his eyes. He shifted in his seat, making himself more comfortable and wrapping the afghan more tightly around himself. It looked like he was going back to sleep.

In the silence that ensued, Grissom picked up the SkyScout.

"You were watching the stars," he said.

"I like watching the stars," Greg muttered. After a pause, he added, "It helps me think."

"What were you thinking of?"

Greg opened his eyes but didn't look up. Either he was too sleepy to make the effort or he was more interested in the intricate designs of his afghan. Whatever the reason, he avoided looking at Gil.

"You," Greg answered quietly. "Me. This thing we call a relationship -"

He paused for a moment, then added, "You don't take it seriously, Grissom. You don't take _me_ seriously, either."

Grissom found himself at a loss. He wanted to apologize but had the feeling that nothing he said would mend things between them. Luckily for him, Greg spoke again.

"You know what first attracted me to you?"

Grissom shook his head.

"Not really."

"You didn't play games," Greg said. "Bosses do, sometimes," he added, "Boyfriends -boyfriends do, all the time. But you didn't. I liked that. I was sick of playing games -"

Greg was speaking quietly, almost as if he were still half-asleep. When he spoke again, however, there was something close to disgust in the tone of his voice.

"And yet, I played one game tonight. I tried to make you jealous. Tried to blackmail you into letting me stay in the park -" He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "How pathetic is that."

Grissom didn't know what to say. He agreed with Greg that playing games was wrong and, yes, pathetic, but he knew better than to say that aloud.

"You found my jacket." Greg said.

Gil looked down. He still had the leather jacket in his hands.

"I put on my black jeans, too," Greg said conversationally.

"The tight ones?"

"The tight ones," Greg nodded. He looked at Gil in the eye, "You know what that means."

Gil nodded.

"You wanted to get laid."

"Yeah," Greg admitted. "I did."

Grissom looked down. He didn't want to hear it. Whatever it was that Greg did, he didn't want to know… But he couldn't just leave, either.

"I was all set to go, you know?" Greg said, "I got my jacket, walked up to the door…" he paused, "And then I chickened out. I couldn't do it. Couldn't even leave the house."

Grissom gulped audibly. He was relieved; he wasn't a jealous person but the thought that Greg could have been with somebody hurt more than words could say.

He cleared his throat.

"Greg," he paused. He still didn't know what to say, but he tried, "What I said earlier... It was the truth. You'd already worked two shifts in a row. You needed a rest -"

"So did you," Greg said quietly. "Being the boss doesn't give you any special superpowers, you know."

Gone was the anger that had fueled his words earlier in the night; Greg seemed too tired to argue. Weary. It was as if he'd given up on something.

"I gotta ask, Grissom," he said in the same quiet way, "Are you sick of this relationship?" He looked at Gil in the eye, "If you're bored with it, then you can say it. I'm a big boy; I can take it."

Gil shook his head.

"I'm not bored. Or sick."

Greg kept his gaze on him. He was waiting.

"It's just -" Grissom paused. He was trying to find a nice way of saying what he had to say, but deep down he knew there wasn't any. "Sometimes I wish things were the way they were before."

Greg frowned. It looked like this wasn't the answer he was expecting.

"Really," he said, and he couldn't keep the sarcasm out as he asked, "Why? Is the relationship cramping up your style or something?"

"It's not that," Gil said patiently. "Look. I just don't want your life to revolve around the job. We all need a diversion, Greg. Sometimes -"

But Greg didn't let him finish.

"You're giving _me _the 'You Need a Diversion' speech, Grissom?" he asked incredulously, "_I_ was the one who talked you into this relationship, remember? I gave _you_ a diversion. And it looked like you were ok with it."

"I was ok with it. I am ok -"

"It doesn't look like it is," Greg retorted. He didn't look tired or resigned, anymore. The more he spoke, the more lively he became, "You're never around –you know that. But hey, I understand that you're busy. But now you're avoiding me at work, too. You keep pairing me with others -"

"It's called 'rotation,' Greg -" Gil interjected, but Greg didn't seem to hear.

"- and now, every time I come to your office, Hodges is in there," Greg added spitefully at one point, "Perched on your desk, hovering-"

Grissom frowned.

"So what if he is?" he asked.

"So what?" Greg repeated incredulously, "You enjoy having him there, that's what. You certainly took his offer to stay and help you!"

Grissom's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Are you jealous of Hodges?"

"No, I'm not jealous!" Greg glared, but Gil's skeptical glance made him pause.

Greg was, after all, an honest man.

"Ok," he said reluctantly, "Maybe I am jealous. But then, who wouldn't," he added, "He's always there, sucking up to you and kissing your ass -"

"Figuratively," Grissom cut in quickly.

"You know what I mean," Greg glared. Then he looked closely at Gil, "You think this is funny?"

Gil's faint smile faded.

"Greg, this is _Hodges_ we're talking about -"

"Hey, I'm not proud of feeling like this, Grissom. But he's always there, and that's a fact. And you know what the worst part is? _You_ like having him there. Why don't you just admit it?"

Grissom didn't immediately answer. He was lost in thought for a moment and then, because he, too, was an honest man, replied, "You're right."

Greg's jaw dropped. He'd expected Grissom to deny everything, not to admit it so readily.

"You _like_ having him there? _Hodges_?"

"It isn't Hodges, it's -" Gil hesitated. He didn't want to admit this but it was about time he did, "It's having someone drop by my office. I like that." He looked at Greg, "It used to be you. I miss that."

Greg was too surprised to reply.

"I miss you," Grissom said. "I miss having you come into my office to pepper me with questions, or to talk to me endlessly about something you did."

Greg's mouth moved but sound didn't immediately come.

"I still do that," he said at last.

Grissom shook his head.

"What I miss is the feeling that I was teaching you something."

"You still teach me things," Greg said.

Grissom smiled faintly and shook his head.

"Greg, there's very little I can teach you now. Trust me; you'll learn more by sticking to Nick or Sara or Warrick -"

"That's arguable," Greg replied mechanically. "And that's not the point here, anyway," He added. He looked at Gil, "You think I became involved with you just so I could learn more."

Gil mused on this for a moment.

"I believe it's a big part of it," he said. Greg was about to protest, but Gil continued, "I don't mind. The truth is, I'm more comfortable as a teacher than a boyfriend, Greg. I'm more confident," he added. "As a teacher, I know what to do or what to say, and I know what's expected of me. Whereas as a boyfriend -" He didn't finish.

Greg stared at Grissom for a moment.

"Well…" he began, "I don't want to ruin your little teacher-pupil fantasy Gil, but… the truth is, most of the times I went to your office, I already knew the answers to my questions."

Gil frowned.

"You did? They why did you -"

"'Cause it was the only way I could get your attention," Greg replied. "I had you all to myself, if only for just a couple of minutes. That's all I want from you, you know," he added, his tone softening, "Your company. At the lab or at home, or at some crime scene. Wherever. You're my diversion."

One of Gil's eyebrows arched.

"Oh." He said.

"Oh?" Greg repeated, "That's all you can say? I'm making this huge statement, and all you can say is 'Oh'?"

Grissom gave him a half smile.

"I never thought of myself in those terms, that's all."

Greg shook his head.

"You're an idiot, sometimes," he muttered. "But I'm an idiot, too," he added after a moment. "Trying to make you jealous was wrong, Grissom."

"But it worked," Gil said quietly. "I was jealous. When I saw the jacket on the floor, I was sure you had someone up there -"

"Oh, jeeze -" Greg muttered. "I'm sorry."

Grissom put the jacket on the table and sat on the edge of Greg's chair.

"I'm sorry, too," he said. "You were right; I've been keeping you away. I thought I was doing it for your own good –you know, giving you some space. It wasn't easy," he admitted, "The truth is, I wish I could be with you 24/7."

Greg's eyebrows rose.

"Really? 24/7?"

"Yeah. Here, at the lab, everywhere. But it wouldn't be fair."

"Forget about fair," Greg replied, "People would talk. Ecklie would pester you with questions about my work -" He stared at Gil for a moment. "I didn't know you felt that way about me," he said, "How come you never said anything?"

"Well, it wasn't the kind of thing I could just blurt out to you," Gil said reasonably, "Frankly, I thought it was a bit creepy to be this obsessed with you."

"Nah, you're not obsessed," Greg said dismissively. "You're just in love."

Grissom smiled faintly.

"Yes," he said.

"Here," Greg said, lifting a corner of the afghan and motioning Gil to get underneath.

Gil obeyed. He lay down and wrapped his arms around Greg. The chair creaked under their combined weight but they didn't worry; they knew the chair would hold up. The guy who died on it had weight half-a-ton.

Greg drew the afghan around Gil's shoulders and then pulled him closer until Gil was practically lying on top of him.

They sighed as they held each other.

"I'd missed this," Greg muttered, rubbing his cheek against Gil's.

"Me, too." Gil said. He lifted his head, "I'm sorry, Greg," he said. "What I said tonight -"

"It's ok." Greg said.

"Is it?" Gil asked. He couldn't believe Greg would let him off the hook this easily. "I thought you were going to -" he stopped. Frowning, he sniffed Greg's neck. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You reek of cologne," he said.

Greg rolled his eyes.

"Nice thing to say to the guy you're trying to win back," he said sarcastically. "For your information, that's a very expensive cologne."

"Well, it reeks," Gil said bluntly. "Besides, you don't need cologne."

"Yeah, well. I wasn't wearing it for you."

"Ah, yes." Gil snorted, "You were wearing it for some hypothetical guy who would supposedly fall for a skinny-assed guy in tight jeans and a leather jacket."

"_You_ fell for that skinny-assed guy," Greg retorted.

"You weren't wearing cologne then."

"Oh, all right," Greg said, rolling his eyes again, "I'll wash it off. Only, you'll have to roll off me, Gil. You're practically smothering me."

Instead of rolling off, Gil wrapped his arms more tightly around Greg.

He sighed in contentment.

He was glad that they were talking so casually, almost jokingly, but the fact that they'd been on the brink of a break-up wasn't lost on him. There were things he knew he ought to say –apologies, promises… But he couldn't, right now.

"What's the name of that cologne, anyway?" he asked, "Something ridiculous like Erotique? Le Coq Enflammée? El Macho Apestoso?"

Greg chuckled.

"I'd missed that," he said. "The silliness. No one does silly like you." He was silent for a moment, then added, "It's like those questions I asked you; you gave me answers I already knew but you always managed to add something –a joke, or a little story. Somehow, you always ended up revealing something about yourself."

For a moment, they simply lay together, listening to each other's breathing.

"You were right," Greg said a while later, "I was tired. I fell asleep almost immediately. I thought I could be of help, but -"

"You would have," Gil said, "Adrenaline would have kept you up all night." He lifted his head in order to look at Greg. "I missed you at the search," he admitted.

"You did? What, the interns didn't help?"

Gil smiled at Greg's sarcasm.

"They made a mess," he admitted.

"And Hodges?"

"He bailed out from the start. Couldn't stand the sights and the smells."

Greg smiled.

"Wuss," he muttered.

Grissom smiled in complicity. Then his smile faded.

"I'll always have to be there, no matter what, Greg. I'm the boss."

Greg nodded.

"That's ok," he said, "As long as you let me help, now and then." He put his hand on the back of Gil's head, motioning him to lay his head down again.

"And listen," he said a while later. "My world isn't getting smaller. It used to be small," he admitted, "But that was before I met you. You made me want to go out and try new things. That's why I became a CSI –to be with you. If I hadn't fallen for you, I would have stayed in my lab, protected by those four walls. You know what I'm saying?"

When Gil didn't reply, Greg tilted his head to look at him.

The older man had fallen asleep.

Greg smiled. Ah, well, he thought as he closed his eyes. Maybe it was for the best. There was only so much mushy stuff one could tell a boyfriend in one night.

* * *

THE END 


	3. BUIHTD At a Club

Breaking up is hard to do…

… At a birthday party.

Please, take note that these stories are unrelated –except where indicated.

Rewritten on July 25'08.

I love the music, music, music

Do you love the music, music, music?

Let's make love to the music, music, music -

Men danced to the pounding sound of the old disco song. Young and not so young alike, their bodies writhed under the strobe lights, their movements having less to do with the music than with an internal rhythm designed to make an impact on their partners -or on someone else's partner.

The Pit was packed. But then, it wasn't a big club; it only looked big because of the clever use of space. The building itself was shaped like a tower, with balconies built in lieu of actual floors. Then they'd dug an enormous basement for the dancing floor, thus giving the club its name.

The monotonous beat or the music -no less monotonous than the moronic lyrics that went along with it- reached even into the farthest corners of the club; but it was the people sitting in the lower balconies who had a privileged view of the dancers following the DJ's call to 'come down and do it!'

I love the rhythm, rhythm, rhythm -- _joy!_

Do you love the rhythm, rhythm, rhythm? --_to the world!_

Yes, I love the rhythm, rhythm, rhythm -- _joy_

For Gil Grissom, this was pure aural agony. He'd been listening to these songs for four hours now, and his patience was running thin. Raised and bred with a steady diet of classic rock and roll, Grissom had despised Disco back in the seventies, and he still despised it now. Worse, the D-jay had taken segments from classic songs from the early seventies, mixed them with lesser works from the disco era, and then changed the tempo so the songs became almost unrecognizable. Songs like Joy to the World now sounded like just another mindless disco song.

Looking for a distraction, Grissom picked his bottle of beer and took a swig from it. He never thought there would come a day when he'd look for comfort in an alcoholic beverage, but then, there was always a first time for everything.

A voice interrupted his gloomy thoughts.

"You don't like this music, do you?"

Grissom looked up. Sitting on the opposite side of the table, retired Judge John Sorrel was smiling indulgently at him.

Grissom shook his head. "I thought disco died back in the eighties," he said.

"I thought so, too," Sorrel nodded, "But it's making a comeback."

"Like TB and Malaria."

Gil was absolutely serious, but Sorrel found it very funny. He laughed out loud.

"I'd never heard anybody compare Disco to an infectious disease before," Sorrel said. He picked his glass of wine and looked into it. "To me, this music brings back good memories."

Grissom looked away. So, the judge had chosen the music. But then, it was his party. The judge was turning 65 tonight. He'd recently retired from the bench, which explained why he was celebrating his birthday in an exclusive gay night club. The stigma didn't worry him anymore.

Not that Sorrel was really at risk in this club. The members were carefully selected, each and every one of them as interested in keeping their privacy as the rest. Only Sorrel's closest friends had been invited to share his table. Grissom wasn't exactly a friend, (he'd only met the judge tonight), but Greg was a close friend of the judge's boyfriend, Stuart, who had insisted on inviting them.

But there was another reason for Grissom's presence; like the Judge, and several of the other guests, he was in a relationship with a younger man. In fact, earlier that night someone had called their table the "Daddies' Table," and the term had stuck. As the night wore on, some of the young men at the table had even started to call their partners 'daddy', and to sit on their laps; even consenting to be fed like little kids.

Gil had found it extremely interesting at first. As an avid observer of human behavior, he never missed a chance to study it up close. It was only later, when Greg rose to dance with Stuart, that Gil realized he was not a distant observer here. This was his life, now. He was no longer the Gil Grissom who refused to be defined by his job or by other people's opinion of himself; he was a _boyfriend_, now. A _lover_.

A '_daddy_' who got left behind whenever his younger partner wanted to dance.

Grissom glanced at the dance floor. He'd been doing this for over an hour, now; he couldn't help it; he needed to know where Greg was.

Someone nearby spoke.

"Would you like to dance?"

Gil looked up in surprise at the man sitting next to him. Lee Phillips, another of the Judge's guests, the only one who had come without a date. A 'professional boyfriend' according to Greg. Desperate to find a permanent relationship now that he was losing his youthful looks…

He was smiling warmly.

Gil shook his head.

"I don't dance."

"Ever?" Phillips asked, his smile turning seductive. "I don't believe that."

Grissom didn't reply. Instead, he glanced at the dance floor again. It was hard to tell who was who, dancing below; it was too dark, and the colorful beams of light repeatedly darting about only added to the confusion. Every time he thought he'd finally located Greg, bobbing up and down with the music, it turned out to be somebody else. Gil kept looking. He needed to know that Greg was down there, dancing. Because if he wasn't -

Grissom forced himself to stop that line of thought. Instead, he took another sip from his beer. It was warm and tasteless by now but it gave him something to do.

"You know, Gil," Phillips said, "I can't believe Greg's dating someone who doesn't dance."

_'Me, neither,' _Gil thought, though he merely smiled noncommittally at Phillips. He'd asked himself that question over and over for a year now. He'd stayed awake for hours, wondering. Greg had feelings for him, he was sure of that. And yet, he didn't really know what had first drawn Greg to him. Was it merely curiosity? Was it the thrill of getting notorious loner Grissom to fall in love with him?

Gil tried not to think about it, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Like tonight, for instance. Seeing Greg casually talk to the other young men -seeing him relate to them- made it only too obvious how little he and Grissom had in common. It wasn't the first time he wondered, but tonight the matter seemed poignant, especially when he looked at his table companions - the Judge; a couple of doctors, and an architect; middle-aged guys with reputable careers and a single weakness that turned them into brothers: Their love for men a lot younger than them.

They were a few years older than Gil, so for him it was like looking at his future self.

Take the birthday boy, for instance. He was a judge with a long and respected career, but what defined him now was the fact that he was dating a twenty-something model. He'd dyed his hair black and he'd spent thousands on a flattering set of clothes, but there was no denying his real age. It was depressing.

Worse yet, his boyfriend wasn't even there. Both Stuart and Greg had disappeared a while ago, and now they were down there, presumably dancing.

'Presumably'? Grissom frowned over the word he'd chosen.

It implied distrust.

Gil lifted the bottle in his hand.

"Let me buy you a drink," Lee said.

"I'm fine, thanks." Gil said, taking another sip of tepid beer. Here, he was following Greg's advice never to accept a drink he couldn't keep his eyes on from the beginning -or one whose ingredients he couldn't ID. Greg never drank anything but beer when he came to places like this. Actually, he rarely drank; it was the dancing that he came here for.

Unfortunately, as he had just pointed out, Grissom didn't dance. Not to this kind of music, anyway.

"So," Phillips said, "You don't drink and you don't dance." He seemed amused by this.

"I guess I'm not a lot of fun," Gil said in self-deprecation.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Phillips said, "I wouldn't say that at all."

Gil looked down. Maybe he was being too hard on himself. He did know how to have fun; in fact, he'd had a great time earlier in the night. The food had been great, and the Judge had shared some interesting insights from his forty years on the bench. The other guests had some amusing tales to tell, too. And then there was the moment when the birthday cake was brought to the table.

Grissom's eyebrows had risen almost to the back of his head when he saw that the cake was shaped like a penis. A giant penis.

Greg had found it particularly funny.

"The icing's quite realistic," he'd said, and Grissom had briefly wondered whether that meant he had a personal knowledge of what the birthday guy's penis really looked like, or only that it was realistically rendered. Gil didn't ask. He didn't want to know and, besides, he couldn't very well talk with his mouth full of cake -Greg had insisted on sharing a testicle with him.

The memory brought a reluctant smile to Gil's lips. It was at moments like this that he remembered why he'd fallen in love with Greg in the first place.

He needed the reminder sometimes.

Life with Greg could be funny, absurd, and sweet, but it could also be lonely, too. He, who had always been content in the company of books and insects, now found himself craving the young man's company. Suddenly, work wasn't enough anymore; he needed Greg around.

It bothered him.

_Who would have thought life would come to this?_' Gil thought wearily. There he was, sitting alone in a noisy disco –the kind of place he only visited when there was a crime to investigate; a place he didn't like, drinking warm beer, and trying to look cool while eagerly waiting for his younger lover to reappear.

He could have been home, reading a book or listening to real music.

Instead, he was here…

And all because he was in love with Greg.

'_Why does one love?' _he thought. '_How queer it is to see only one being in the world, to have only one thought in one's mind, only one desire in the heart, and only one name on the lips--a name which comes up continually, rising, like the water in a spring…'_

Grissom smiled at the words.

Lee quickly took note of it.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

Gil shook his head again.

"Nothing," he said, "I was thinking of something Guy de Maupassant wrote."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the judge look up sharply.

Lee seemed confused.

"Giddy…?" he started but he'd missed 'Maupassant', so, with the smile still in place he asked, "Who's this Giddy?" Is he as hot as Greg?"

Gil couldn't help glancing at the Judge, who winced and then gave him a look that said, 'what did you expect?'

Lee didn't seem to notice.

"Is he as hot as Greg?' he asked again.

Grissom's smile turned ironic.

"He isn't," he said, "He's dead. He died of syphilis in an asylum for the insane."

He enjoyed seeing the effect of his words on Lee. The younger man's smile froze –he would never stop smiling, he would never stop trying to please- but now there was a look of confusion on his face too. Finally, he nodded vaguely and looked away.

Grissom regretted his words. He'd vowed to try to fit in, and there he was, talking about Guy de Maupassant, for God's sake. One should never talk about dead guys, (or VDs for that matter) in a place like this. He was there to celebrate a birthday; he was supposed to be having a good time.

But he wasn't having a good time. And he didn't really fit in.

Maybe he didn't _want_ to fit in.

The judge interrupted his thoughts.

"Gil," he judge said, "You're not enjoying yourself, are you?"

"What he needs is one of these," one of Sorrell's guests said. Sam Myers, a doctor. He reached for something inside his shirt pocket and brought it to light. A tiny plastic bottle. "One of these and you'll feel like new, Gil." He didn't offer the bottle to Gil; he simply opened it and spilled its contents on the table. Pills of several colors rolled out and were quickly picked by the other men.

Grissom eyed his companions as they started popping pills. Robert Kent, a lawyer, met his gaze with a wink.

"Got to be ready for later," he said.

--

TBC


	4. BUIHTD At a Club PART 2

Breaking Up is hard to do…

At a Club

* * *

"Go ahead," said Myers, the Doctor who'd brought the pills.

"No, thanks," Gil said politely.

"You sure?" Lee asked, "They're harmless."

Grissom had seen what some of those supposedly 'harmless' drugs could do, but knew better than to point it out to them. He merely smiled.

"I'm fine."

He said it good-naturedly enough, but the reply seemed to displease Myers.

"They're not illegal, if that's what worries you," he muttered morosely.

"There's certainly nothing illegal about these either," the Judge said good-humoredly, adding some blue pills to the cache. He winked at Grissom. "Vitamins," he said ironically. He took one and chased it with a big gulp of wine. He set his glass down and looked expectantly at Grissom. When Gil didn't move, he smiled incredulously, "Are you telling me you don't need these either?"

Grissom didn't reply.

"He will, sooner or later," one of the Judge's friends said. The Architect. Gil had forgotten his name –

The man picked a couple of yellow pills. "It's not that big a deal, Gil." He looked up. "Just think of them as _enhancers_. Trust us; Greg will be very appreciative."

They were all looking at him now and Gil realized, to his utter amazement, that they actually expected him to comply.

The oldest bullies in the world.

The thought almost made him laugh.

Well, they were wasting their time. He'd always had a healthy curiosity for anything that he might encounter in the world, but he'd never given in to peer pressure as a kid, and he wasn't about to give in to it now.

When he didn't make a move for the pills, the Judge shook his head.

"You're not being reasonable, Gil," he said, his voice heavy with disapproval. He glanced at the others, who silently looked back at him. No words were crossed, yet a message had been conveyed. The Judge nodded, and then he looked back at Grissom. "Listen, Gil," he said, using a fatherly tone. "We're your friends, here. We're older than you, so we're in a position to help."

"And to give you some advice," the Architect added.

"Exactly," Sorrell nodded. "Believe me, it's for your own good that I'm going to tell you this: Greg is not going to stay around for long if you don't spice things up for him."

"He's certainly not going to stay if you insist on keeping tabs on him," Kent added. He pointedly tilted his head in the dancing floor's direction. "You want to know where he is and who he's with and what he's doing…" He shook his head. "Trust me; you'll be better off if you don't."

"It doesn't mean he doesn't love you," Sorrell added, "But he's young; he's bound to take whatever life throws his way." He smiled benignly, "Just let him be. Life will be easier if you do."

Gil looked down. He shook his head slightly. He couldn't do that.

"Pride is overrated," The Architect muttered pointedly. "Believe me."

"Look at us," Kent added, and he opened his arms as if to encompass his friends, "We keep our boys happy; they keep us happy."

Grissom raised his gaze. "Are _you _happy, Robert?"

Kent blinked, momentarily taken aback, but Myers' reaction wasn't as restrained.

"Oh, you sanctimonious son of a bitch," he hissed. "Who do you think you are, anyway?"

"Sam -"

Myers ignored the Judge. "We open our group to you, and you just -" he waved at Grissom, words failing him for a second. "You just sit there, judging us; acting like you're better than us." He leant forward, "Well, think again, Mr. CSI. You're fucking a _coworker_, remember? That's a line none of us ever crossed. So why don't you take that self-righteous stick out of your ass?" He smiled coldly, "Just a friendly suggestion."

He leant back on his chair, and after a moment, the rest of the guys studiously looked away.

For Grissom, the message was clear: He wasn't one of them. He wasn't welcome anymore.

He carefully set his bottle of beer on the table.

"Excuse me," he muttered and rose.

--

The restroom was hot and muggy, but unlike others Grissom had visited before (mostly, in the course of an investigation), this one wasn't as crowded. The reason? The Pit administrators didn't encourage sexual activity in their restrooms. Men talked and flirted, but the presence of a stern-looking attendant made it difficult to take matters any further. Guys washed, and then left.

Grissom splashed some cold water on his face, then remained hunched over the sink for a moment. Inevitably, he reviewed the conversation he'd just had.

_Shit_. Shit, shit…

He'd never intended to argue with these guys. He understood their motives even if he didn't share them, and in other circumstances he would have handled things differently. If Greg had been sitting there, for instance –

But Greg wasn't there; he was somewhere with another man, and that made all the difference in the world. To the Judge and friends, infidelity was a small price to pay for the privilege of dating a younger man, but to Gil it was completely unacceptable.

Of course…In five years he'd probably start thinking differently. That's what the Judge and his friends were trying to say, weren't they? That he'd be lucky if Greg stayed around that long. Or that in five or ten years he'd do anything, take anything, just for the privilege of having whatever it was that Greg wanted to give…

Grissom shook his head. He didn't want that kind of life. No way. Those guys upstairs could delude themselves into thinking this was happiness, but Grissom didn't want any part of it.

But he didn't know if he was ready for the alternative.

'Take a look at yourself,' the judge had said. Gil raised his gaze and did exactly that, only to discover another reason people didn't loiter here too long. Under the stark, unforgiving lights, every line, every flaw was brutally revealed in the mirrors.

Grissom felt older, all of a sudden.

Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

"You're obviously not cut-out for this."

Lee. He was standing a few feet away, casually leaning on the wall. Grissom stared at his reflection on the mirror, wondering how long he'd been there.

Lee smiled.

"You weren't very friendly with the boys," he said in mock reproach.

Gil sighed.

"I know," he said ruefully. "I'm not too proud of that."

"Don't worry. They're very forgiving, believe it or not. Just give them a little time." He languidly pushed away from the wall and took a step closer to Gil. He seemed to be studying Grissom. "It seems to me you're going to need a little time, too, Gil. To get used to this, I mean. Be honest: if it were up to you, wouldn't you rather be somewhere quiet –your living room, for instance? With a book and a glass of fine wine…"

He sighed. "Come to think of it, I wish I could do that. I'm getting tired of this -" he paused as if looking for the right word. "Noise. Greg loves it," he added, in a tone that meant he didn't approve. "But then, he's young. Young-er, I mean," he added, and he smiled again.

He was flirting, and not very subtly. Grissom studiously looked down and set out to wash his hands, aware, all along, of Lee's watchful eyes.

When he reached for a towel, he found the dispenser was empty. He was about to ask the attendant but before he could, Lee took a clean handkerchief from a pocket and offered it, just as if he'd known all along that Grissom would need one.

"Take it," Lee said, when Grissom hesitated.

Grissom took the handkerchief and dried his hands. "Thanks," he muttered, handing it back.

Lee's fingers casually brushed Grissom's hand when he took his handkerchief back. He was standing so close now, his breath touched Grissom's skin when he spoke.

"I understand how you feel, Gil," he said, "You want someone to be there for you -unconditionally." He paused. "But Greg's so young, he -" he let the word trail off.

Grissom stared back expressionlessly.

"He doesn't know how lucky he is to have you," Lee finished. He reached out and tentatively touched Grissom's shoulder. "If I were him -"

Grissom casually pulled back.

Lee smiled.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Grissom didn't reply. He simply walked around Lee and went to the door.

Lee laughed.

"Just think about it!" He called out.

* * *

TBC


	5. BUIHTD At a Club PART 3

Breaking up is hard to do

At a club

part 3

* * *

Grissom stepped into the hallway and was quickly engulfed by the crowd. The music seemed louder after the relative quiet he'd just left, but with Lee in there, turning back wasn't an option anymore. Besides, he needed to find Greg. Determined, he made his way to the very source of noise: the dance floor. He could see it -it was only a few feet away- but getting there wasn't going to be easy; people kept blocking his way: couples openly making out, couples laughing and talking, and, most pathetic of all, lone dancers trying to coax him into dancing with them.

Grissom ignored these men's poor attempts at conversation, the thought that one of them might not take rejection well never occurring to him until someone suddenly grabbed him from behind.

Grissom tried to confront his assailant, but his reaction came a second too late; before he knew it, the stranger had dragged him into a corner, pushed him flat against the wall, and effectively silenced his protests with a passionate kiss.

Grissom's first thought –that Lee had followed him- was quickly dispelled when he tasted the stranger's mouth.

Greg.

Grissom stopped struggling and kissed Greg just as passionately, stopping only when he was out of breath.

Greg pulled back a little. He was smiling smugly.

"Missed me much?" he said. Actually, he yelled; it was the only way he could get to be heard.

His flippancy irritated Grissom, who suddenly remembered why he'd come downstairs. He pushed Greg at arm's length.

"Where the hell were you?"

"Here and there," Greg shrugged, failing to notice Grissom's anger. He was about to add something, when he noticed something over Grissom's shoulder. The older man turned to see what it was and saw Lee coming out of the restroom. Phillips was looking directly at him. He wiped a corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, then winked at Greg and walked in the opposite direction.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Greg. He shook Grissom, forcing him to look back at him.

"What the hell were you doing in there?"

"It's the _bathroom_, Greg," Gil rolled his eyes, "What do you think? And what about you? You just disappeared -"

"Don't change the subject," Greg replied sternly, "Lee was in there too."

"So what?"

"So what? You don't go to a restroom while Lee's in there! He likes to try his luck with everybody's boyfriend! And he's got a serious addiction!"

Not bothering to point out that Lee had followed him, Grissom merely shook his head.

"Some friends, you've got," he muttered. He was downplaying the whole situation, but Greg was still pissed.

"Did you kiss him?"

Gil was mystified. "Did I what?"

"Did he make a pass at you?"

Grissom scoffed.

"What are you gonna do, punch him in the face?"

"I will," Greg said firmly. Then he relented a little. "I would," he amended sheepishly, "Except that I know you said no. You did say no, right?" Anger instantly dissolved, he smiled and started to lean forward for another kiss, but Grissom put a stop to it.

"We need to talk."

"Oh, ok. But not now," Greg said, glancing around, "I was thinking maybe we could -"

"Now, Greg," Gil said firmly.

Greg looked sharply at him.

"You got a call?" Technically, it was their night off, but as boss, Grissom could still be needed at the lab.

"No, I didn't get a call. I just -"

"Oh, then it can wait," Greg said dismissively. He looked around again, but a sudden thought occurred to him. "Do you want to go home? The music's too loud tonight. I was worried, when I heard what they did to that Pink Floyd song, 'Money.' That must have pissed you off, huh?"

Grissom wished Greg weren't so considerate all of a sudden. It made it harder for him to do what he was about to do.

"The music's fine," he said tiredly. "I mean, it isn't, but -" he gulped. Damn, the words weren't just that easy to say. '_I can't go on with this,'_ would have worked; or '_I can't change who I am,'_ or _'I thought I could be in a relationship, but I can't.'_

"I can't do this," he blurted out. He looked at Greg with regret. "I'm sorry, Greg. I tried, but -"

"Oh. I'm sorry, too," Greg said eagerly, "It's my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone for so long." He chuckled. "Those guys were really grilling you, weren't they?"

"How did you know?"

"I was sitting on the balcony opposite to the Judge's." Greg smiled in amusement. "I was keeping an eye on you. You glared at Lee, you glared at the Judge… You even glared at your own bottle of beer."

Grissom sighed. He leant on the wall, tiredly.

"What happened?" Greg smiled. "You're an easy-going kind of guy. Lee started it, right? He said something to you; you said something to him… And what did you tell him, by the way? It takes a lot to discourage him but you did it with a couple of lines!"

"I quoted a line from Guy de Maupassant -" Gil said sheepishly. "Lee thought I was talking about a living person, and so I told him how he died."

Greg chuckled.

"Poor Lee," he said. "That'll teach him not to mess up with you." He tilted his head, studying Gil. "You didn't have any fun, did you? And here I thought you'd enjoy the music, at least. I mean, you've always said you like every song from the seventies -"

"Not Disco," Gil glared.

"Well, you should. Disco's played a huge part in gay history."

"Yeah, along with overdoses and AIDS."

Greg raised his eyebrows.

"Wow," he said, "Syphilis, overdoses and AIDS. Is that what you think of when you come to one of these places?"

Aware of his gaffe, Gil closed his eyes tiredly. He could have explained to Greg that his memories of the era were tainted with the deaths he had witnessed; that friends of his had died because they believed they could really 'get down and boogie' and not suffer the consequences… But he didn't say any of this. Instead, he leant his forehead on Greg's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

"Aw, it's ok," Greg said, patting his back. "So, are you gonna tell me what happened? You were having a quiet conversation with the guys, and then you bolted. Was it the pills?"

Grissom shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. Held in Greg's arms like this, he could almost believe that nothing really mattered as long as they were together.

Almost. He looked up.

"You should have been there," he said.

"I know," Greg said ruefully. "I'm sorry. I wanted to be with you but Paul had a long story to tell." He lowered his voice a little, but he was still practically yelling. "He, hum, is having some troubles with the Judge." He hesitated for a second, then added, "The old man's roughing him up."

Grissom looked up, alert.

"He's abusing him?"

"Not exactly," Greg said reluctantly. "They play games. Paul likes a little pain now and then, and the Judge is only too happy to oblige. It's completely consensual," he added quickly. "But the Judge gets carried away sometimes; he's starting to leave bruises, and since Paul's a model... Well, it's getting to be a problem at photo shoots."

"Why doesn't he tell the Judge to stop?"

"He's tried, but… It seems the Judge doesn't take direction kindly. I think he likes their games too much to put a stop to them."

Grissom sighed.

"This isn't going to end well, Greg."

"That's what I was trying to explain to Paul. I told him he needs to get out of the relationship, but I don't think he's gonna do it. Breaking up isn't easy, you know."

Grissom gulped.

"No. It's not. But sometimes it's the right thing to do." He studied the young man's face for a moment, knowing this was probably the last time he'd be able to do it openly. "Greg," he said, "You know how I feel about you -"

"Yeah?" Greg was still distracted by Paul's problems, but something in Grissom's voice made him react. He nodded, "Oh, yeah, I do." He smiled. "You know, while I was talking to Paul –and listening to him- I realized how lucky I was. To have you, I mean." He pressed his lips on Gil's ear so only he could hear what he was about to say. "I know I don't say it often –no, strike that; I've never said it, right?" he cleared his throat. "I love you."

Grissom froze.

Greg didn't mind the lack of response. He seemed to take it for granted that Grissom would not reply. Smiling, he pulled back and motioned Gil to follow him into the dance floor area.

"So," Greg said, glancing at him, "What did you want to talk about?"

Grissom was staring right ahead. He was looking at an older guy dancing down there, his toupee sliding off his skull, his skin shiny with sweat. He'd probably pumped himself with enhancing drugs before coming down to dance…

Grissom wondered if he was looking at his future self.

Greg leant into his line of vision. He was smiling.

"Well?" Greg pressed good-naturedly.

Gil took a deep breath. He wanted his old life back, he really did, but looking at Greg, he realized he couldn't let go of this life just yet.

He spoke before he could really think it over.

"I was wondering if you'd want to dance with me," he said.

"Really?" Greg was suitable surprised but not as much as Grissom, who wasn't really sure he could pull this off. They'd played a couple of slow songs, so technically, he could. Gambling on this possibility, Gil pulled Greg into the dance floor just as the current song was ending.

'Please,' he muttered to himself. 'Let the next one be from The Bee Gees.' He hated the Bee Gees, but a syrupy song from them would make all the difference to him.

To his dismay, the next song was from KC & the Sunshine band.

But Gil didn't back off. He pulled Greg into his arms and started moving slowly, following a song only he knew of. A slow song.

He immediately felt it: resistance.

"Grissom," Greg muttered. He didn't say more but the tone said it all. _'Gil, come on, this isn't funny'_ or '_Gil, everybody's watching.'_

And they were. Under the strobe lights Grissom had brief glimpses of them; some were openly pointing; others were rolling their eyes or giving Greg commiserative glances. Gil, who had spent most of his life not caring what people thought of him, now was all too aware of the impression he made on Greg. He didn't want to disappoint him, but he was realistic enough to know he'd never change -not even for him. He desperately held on to Greg. _'This is me,'_ he wanted to say. _'I can't change._' Instead, he pressed his lips in Greg's ear and said other words that were just as important.

"I love you."

Greg's resistance instantly dissolved. He let Grissom lead.

_'Shake, shake, shake –_

_Shake your booty, shake your booty'_

Grissom rolled his eyes in chagrin. Of all the songs they could have played, why –oh, why- did it have to be this one?

But with Greg in his arms, did it really matter?

Greg's body shook with laughter at one point.

"Ah, Gil," he said. "Always doing things your own way..."

"Sorry."

"It's ok. I like that."

Grissom smiled.

Greg leant into his arms again. "You know, I have a bottle of wine, back in my place. To put us in the mood, so to speak -"

"I don't need anything to put me in the mood," Gil said proudly. No pills, no alcohol...

Greg chuckled again.

"Well, then how about we go back to your place, put some romantic music… Something from Pink Floyd…"

"Or The Grateful Dead," Gil said, adding to the joke.

Men were still pointing at them –the uncool couple doing their slow dance while the rest were jumping around, arms flailing. But looking closer at them, Gil could tell a subtle change had occurred. Some were smiling now; others were looking at them with frank envy.

Grissom pulled Greg even closer.

He hoped the guys upstairs were looking at them now.

* * *

The end


	6. BUIHTD At a hospital Part 1

Breaking up is hard to do…

At the Hospital

Spoiler: in Let the Seller Beware, we learn that Greg's grandparents are Norwegian. They're Papa and Mama Olaf, but in my story Dilemma her name is Astrid –or Asty, which is how Greg called her when he was a kid.

Note: Dennis the Psychologist appeared in 'Dilemma' too. He's kind of a jerk.

* * *

Gil Grissom glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 11:15, fifteen minutes into the night shift. It was Monday, and like every Monday, he and his colleagues had come to the conference room to discuss their current cases. Most of them were already there: Catherine and Warrick, sitting on his right side and talking in hushed tones; Sara and Nick, sitting on his left, reading each other's reports.

There was an empty chair across from him, and Grissom had made it a point not to look at it.

Greg was late.

Again.

Gil sighed. There was something the matter with Greg. Lately, he'd been distracted. His work hadn't really suffered, but that there was something else in his mind beside crime investigation was becoming more and more evident.

Grissom had tried to ignore the signs, but he couldn't do that anymore. He owed it to rest of the team to see that things ran smoothly.

He didn't relish the confrontation, though. If it had been anybody else –say, Nick or Warrick- he would have called him for a talk the minute he noticed the first signs of trouble. But it was Greg, his ex-boyfriend, and that made things more difficult.

He sighed.

Things hadn't always been this bad between them.

Back when they first got together, he and Greg had vowed not to let their affair interfere with their jobs in any way, and to their credit, it never did. Even after their break-up, they somehow managed to keep things running smoothly, if only for a week or two.

But lately, things had been going downhill. Greg's behavior was deteriorating. And Grissom, who should have immediately confronted him, had let matters escalate.

He couldn't put it off anymore; he and Greg needed to talk.

Meanwhile, he had cases to supervise. Once Sara and Nick were Grissom shook his head, dispelling those thoughts. He picked up his pen.

"All right," he said, "Let's begin."

Sara looked up.

"Greg's not here yet."

"Yeah, well, he knows we're on a tight schedule." Gil nodded at Nick, "How's the Anderson case going? Did you get those samples tested?"

"I haven't heard from Toxicology yet, but we may have something from the bullets." Nick glanced at Sara, who nodded.

"Bobby Dawson said he'd do a Maynaflux test," she explained. "He didn't say exactly what it was, but he was confident about the results. He said he'd only -" Abruptly, she stopped. Someone was coming down the hallway, and she seemed relieved to see who it was.

Greg rushed into the room.

"Sorry," he mumbled apologetically. "Sorry," he muttered again as both Nick and Sara moved so he could get to the empty seat. As noiselessly as he could, he pulled the chair and sat.

Grissom motioned Sara to continue, which immediately struck him as the wrong thing to do. He should have reprimanded Greg first; at the very least he should have made a mildly sarcastic comment just like he did when the others were late. But, again, it was easier to ignore Greg. But not for long. He and Greg really needed to talk.

finished, he turned to his right.

"Warrick?"

"Yeah," Warrick said. "Well, I feel like my case isn't going anywhere. I have the results, but they're ambiguous at best."

"What about this guy's DNA?"

"Brass said he'd get me a court order but he's got nothing yet."

Judy, the night shift receptionist appeared by the door, then. She looked apologetic.

"Uh, Dr. Grissom?"

"Yes?"

"Sorry for the interruption. I've got a message for Greg."

"Can't it wait?"

"Well, hum, they said it was urgent -" she let the word trail off. Grissom didn't reply, which she correctly took as a go-ahead. She looked at Greg. "A Dr. Pratt called," she said. She glanced at her notebook for verification, "Dennis Pratt. He says he needs to speak to you ASAP."

Greg, who had looked up when Judy mentioned his name, didn't hesitate: he practically bolted from his seat. He muttered, 'sorry, Grissom' as he passed by the boss, but he didn't wait for a reply.

Not that Grissom gave him any. He merely nodded at Warrick.

"Go on," he said expressionlessly.

Looking at Grissom, no one would have guessed the turmoil he was in. He listened attentively to Warrick, discussed his case and offered suggestions, but his thoughts inevitably kept wandering away.

Greg's former boyfriend was back in the picture.

And he wasn't being very subtle about it.

* * *

TBC


	7. BUIHTD At a hospital Part 2

BUIHTD…

At the Hospital

Part two

* * *

Greg returned about five minutes later, looking pale and nervous. But when his turn came, he was able to give a detailed report of his current cases. Grissom breathed more easily. It didn't look like Greg's work was suffering.

Yet.

Gil put a check on the last item on his list. "All right," he said, glancing at his colleagues. "We're done."

They started gathering their reports while Grissom checked on his cell phone. A message from Brass got priority. He listened attentively to it, made a few notes, and then called out to Catherine, who was rushing out the door.

"Call Brass. There was a fire at the Ringstone Plaza Hotel, and he suspects arson. The firefighters haven't released the scene, but -"

"I'll be right there," the blonde woman said, "Can I take Nick?" Gil nodded and the two CSIs left together.

Grissom rose along with the others, but he lingered by the door, hoping to have a word with Greg. The young man, too, seemed reluctant to leave, but before he or Gil could say anything, Sara retraced her steps and motioned Greg to come along. She even took his arm.

"You ok?" she asked as they walked away. She was probably concerned by the fact that a doctor had called Greg.

Grissom didn't hear Greg's response. He had more messages to take, and the next, a terse, 'meet me down here ASAP,' from Al Robbins led him straight to the Morgue. It wasn't till much later that he was finally free to go back to his office, but a casual glance into the locker room made him pause. Greg was hunched down in there, looking for something in one of the bottom drawers. Since they only kept very specific equipment there, and Greg didn't need any of it for his current investigations, Gil was intrigued. He went inside.

"Greg?"

Greg looked up without quite meeting Grissom's gaze.

"Hey, Grissom," he muttered.

"What are you doing?"

"Catherine called. She said she needed an extra hand at the fire, so -"

"Oh." Grissom frowned. She should have cleared it with him first. Or maybe she had; he had turned off his cell phone while he was down in the morgue. He almost pull out his cell phone to check, but now that they were alone, it seemed like a good time to address Greg's recent behavior at the lab.

Unfortunately, the first words that came out of his mouth had nothing to do with the job.

"So," he said, "Dennis is back in the picture."

Greg flinched but didn't reply. Intead, he kept looking for whatever it was that he needed, and when he didn't find it in that drawer, he closed it and opened another. Or he tried to; the drawer got stuck in the middle and wouldn't bulge despite his best efforts.

Calmly, Grissom gave it a kick.

The drawer slid open at last, and Greg found what he was looking for: Gloves. He shut the drawer without acknowledging Gil's help. He straightened up and, without a word, opened his locker, the door effectively blocking Grissom's view of him. Greg was far from calm by now; he was rummaging inside, frantically, almost, as if he couldn't wait to get whatever he was looking for and then leave.

"You didn't stay alone for long," Gil said, and he was surprised at the bitterness behind the words. Bitterness and despise.

And still, Greg wouldn't respond.

Grissom didn't insist; he simply grabbed the door and shut it close with a loud bang, barely giving Greg a chance to yank his hand away.

"Shit!" Greg blurted out, "What the fuck are you doing?" He shot a quick glance at the door, then at Grissom. "This is not the place!" he hissed.

Gil knew he was right; anyone passing by could have seen or heard what was going on in the room. Grissom almost stepped back. He was crossing a line there, one he'd scrupulously stayed clear of in happier times. He wasn't even angry; mostly, he was disappointed.

He never thought Greg would be so weak that he'd fall for Dennis again.

He shook his head.

"I don't get it," he said tiredly. "How can you be with him? He's a manipulative son of a bitch."

"He's a better friend that you're ever gonna be," Greg retorted, just as bitterly.

Gil scoffed.

"You think friendship is all he's interested in?"

Greg glared at Grissom but didn't reply. He reached for the locker door again, but Grissom kept it shut.

"Do you mind?"

"I'm not finished," Grissom said.

"Grissom -" Greg didn't finish what he was going to say, but he didn't have to. There was a warning in that single word: a reminder that Greg was just as strong as him -stronger, perhaps. _Younger._

If he wanted to open that door, he would.

Gil didn't care.

"You shouldn't be with Dennis," he said. "He's just gonna use you, and then he's gonna toss you aside -"

"Just like you did."

It was the perfect retort; almost as effective as a punch in the face. Grissom was momentarily taken aback, and Greg saw his chance. He took a step closer, his eyes filled with menace.

"You don't give a shit about me," he said spitefully, "It's all about Dennis."

Grissom didn't reply. They were standing so close they could have kissed, and yet, the closeness only emphasized the emotional distance between them. There was nothing between them anymore, he realized; not even friendship.

"You had a sort of competition going on," Greg added, "You think he's won and that pisses you off -"

Gil shook his head incredulously. Dennis was manipulating the situation, and Greg still didn't see it.

"He's calling you at the lab," he said patiently. "He wants me to know -"

"That had nothing to do with you!" Greg retorted, "He just wanted to let me know about Papa Olaf!"

Gil froze.

"Papa Olaf?"

Greg looked like he'd said more than he'd originally intended. He exhaled.

"He's in the hospital," he said reluctantly.

"What happened?"

"Nothing. He's ok. He just -" He looked down. It was clear he didn't want to talk about it. "He had an operation," he said reluctantly. "Two days ago. Dennis has been checking up on him for me."

Grissom was stunned.

"What kind of operation?"

Greg only shook his head. It was just too painful to discuss.

'Damn,' Gil thought ruefully. Everything made sense now.

Greg loved his grandfather. He'd once admitted to Grissom that, even though he knew Papa Olaf's life was winding down, a part of him refused to believe he could die. The prospect of losing his grandfather was unbearable, and the entire family felt the same. It was an irrational feeling but they couldn't help it.

No wonder he'd been distracted and coming late…

Gil sighed. He should have been there for Greg, instead of making things harder for him.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly "I know how much you care about him." He paused. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Greg shook his head.

"There was nothing you could do."

True, Gil thought; although it stung to hear it said out loud.

"I could have given you a night off," he said reasonably.

Greg looked up.

"If that's all I needed from you, Grissom, then I would have asked you."

He kept his gaze on Gil for a moment, then dropped it. Tentatively, he reached for the locker door, and this time Gil didn't interfere. Greg opened the door, pulled his denim coveralls and a pair of boots, and then he closed it.

And then he was gone.

* * *

TBC


	8. BUIHTD At a hospital Part 3

BUIHTD

Part 3

* * *

Grissom entered the elevator with a couple of nurses who openly eyed his LVPD jacket and then glanced at each other. Grissom had seen that reaction before; a CSI's presence meant the cops were already there, somewhere, and that meant trouble. Not trouble for them, specifically, although it usually meant lots and lots of paperwork.

The elevator opened into the Intensive Care unit and the nurses left in a rush, before he could ask the way to the patients' rooms. But he needn't have worried; the nurse behind the desk immediately spotted him. She didn't seem alarmed at the sight of his jacket.

"May I help you?"

Grissom walked up to her, using his best smile. A quick glance at the tag on her uniform provided him a name.

"Good evening, _Nurse Véliz_," he said, "My name is Gil Grissom, and I'm with the Crime Lab."

The nurse didn't smile back. She'd openly looked at the tags on his jacket, so she already knew who he was.

"Yes," she said. _I can read_, the tone of her voice said. "Anything I can do for you, sir?"

"I talked to Dr. Bennett earlier tonight," he said courteously. "I believe he left some instructions -"

Grissom spoke his lines with all the conviction he could muster, but he knew he was bad at this. There were people who routinely used and abused their position in law enforcement to get what they wanted (and got away with it), but he'd rarely done it. He'd certainly never done it at a hospital till tonight. First, he'd used the lab's resources to find which hospital Papa Olaf was in, and then he'd used his credentials in order to get access to his room. That was relatively easy, since the doctors he talked to over the phone were too busy to check on his story. But nurses weren't as easily persuaded; doctors made all sort of decisions, but nurses had to deal with the aftermath.

_This _nurse was eyeing him skeptically.

"Doctor Bennett said you were a relative of Mr. Hodjem's."

Grissom opened his mouth, and then closed it. Dr. Bennett had assumed he was a relative and Gil didn't contradict him, but he knew that an open lie would lead him nowhere with Nurse Véliz.

"I'm not a relative," he said. "I'm a close friend of the family." But his innate honesty wouldn't allow him even this tiny –inaccuracy? "I _was_ a close friend of the family. Not a very good one," he admitted wearily. He sighed. "I should have come before but I was too busy. I'm always busy -"

To his surprise, Nurse Véliz smiled.

"Save your apologies for the family, Mr. Grissom. Go ahead. He's in room 833. His condition is serious, so please, be brief."

---

Gil gulped at the sight of the old man in the hospital bed. His illness had taken its toll: Under the dim lights, veins and old scars stood out in the papery skin of his hands. His body had shrunken, too. Or maybe it was only the size of the life-supporting machinery surrounding him that gave you that impression.

He was breathing on his own, at least.

But how bad was he? Greg had mentioned an operation but didn't give any details. Gil had almost asked Nurse Véliz about it, but that would have only made it too clear he wasn't even a 'bad' friend of the family, and so he didn't. He wished he knew more about Papa Olaf's condition, though.

More than that, he wished there was something he could do for the old man.

He closed his eyes.

"Please, get well," he whispered.

Suddenly, as if response to his prayer, there was a faint, rustling sound; the sound of heavy bedding being removed. Gil looked at the old man, but the sound didn't come from him. Gil looked around. He noticed it, then; a couch in a corner of the room, and a shadowy figure sitting on it. A private nurse, maybe?

Dennis?

Gil took a tentative step in its direction.

"Hello?"

"Gil?"

Gil recognized the voice. It was Mama Asty, Greg's grandmother.

Gil sighed.

Astrid Hodjem was the last person he wanted to talk to right now.

* * *

TBC

Not someone he might want to talk to.


	9. BUIHTD At a hospital Part 4

BUIHTD at a hospital

Part 4

* * *

There was a reading lamp on a nearby table, and she turned it on.

She blinked; the light too strong on her eyes after being in the dark. She looked questioningly as Grissom stepped into the circle of light, and for a moment, that's all they did –stare at each other, seemingly at a loss for words.

She reacted first.

"Dr. Grissom," she said formally, and she even started to rise.

"No, please," Gil said, awkwardly raising a hand to stop her. He didn't want her to bother.

Astrid hesitated, then finally sat back again, heavily, the way an exhausted person does.

There was a heavy afghan on the floor, and Grissom mechanically picked it for her.

Up close, he saw that Papa Olaf's illness had taken its toll on Astrid Hodjem. She was Papa Olaf's second wife and considerably younger –in fact, she was only a few years older than Papa Olaf's older daughter- but she looked older than the last time he saw her.

He felt sorry for her.

"Here," he said gently, "Do you want me to -" He wanted to wrap the afghan around her shoulders but before he could, she took it from him.

"Thank you," she muttered.

Gil cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to intrude," he said apologetically. He almost called her 'Mama Asty', but stopped when he recalled she'd called him 'Dr. Grissom'. "I didn't know you were here."

She didn't reply. She was looking at him as if she couldn't imagine what he was doing there. She even glanced at the door.

"Is Greg here?" she asked.

"He's working," he said. "He told me his grandfather had an operation."

"Yes," she said quietly. She must have assumed he knew what the operation was all about, because she didn't volunteer any information.

Uncomfortably, Grissom glanced in the bed's direction.

"How is he?"

"He's -" She faltered this time. She had to take a deep breath before she could manage a reply. "He's stable." Then, as if to dispel any concerns he might have, she added, more assuredly, "He's doing fine. The doctors say he's responding well to the treatment."

He had the feeling she was saying it mostly to convince _herself_ that everything was all right, but he didn't insist. "I'm glad," he said. He didn't know what else to say. He'd never felt comfortable around Mama Asty, not even in happier times. "Mrs. Hodjem, if there's anything I can do -"

"No," she said abruptly. Too abruptly, she must have realized, because she softened her tone to add, "No, thank you, Doctor."

"I could get you a cup of coffee," he offered. "Or a cup of tea if you prefer -"

She was shaking her head. "Thank you, Gil –Doctor," she amended quickly. "I'm fine."

She didn't want anything from him; kindly or not, she was dismissing him.

Grissom hesitated. Leaving now would have been the decent thing to do, considering; and it wasn't like he could really do anything for Papa Olaf –surely he was in good hands here.

But he couldn't leave. He wanted to do something for the family; he felt he owed it to Greg. Maybe if he stayed long enough, something would come up.

He looked at Mama Asty.

"I'd like to stay for a while," he said.

She hesitated for a second, but her good manners prevailed. Wordlessly, she picked a corner of the afghan, making more space for him on the couch.

Grissom sat. After a moment, he spoke.

"Would you like me to turn off the light? I can keep an eye on him, if you want -" He paused. He didn't mean to imply she'd rather sleep than keep an eye on her husband, but to his surprise, Mama Asty didn't take his words the wrong way. She even smiled a little.

"Yes, I was napping," she said ruefully. "I promised I'd keep a vigil by his side, but I'm afraid I haven't been doing a good job."

"Isn't there anyone else?"

"Yes," she smiled. "Karen comes during the day." Greg's mom. "And Karen's cousins. And Greg's friend drops by from time to time."

Greg's friend. Dennis.

"I'm fine, Dr. Grissom," she added gently. "You don't need to worry about me."

I don't need you,' was what she meant, but he pretended not to notice.

They sat side by side in silence. Gil kept his gaze on Papa Olaf's bed at first, but after a moment, his attention drifted to a nearby table. A huge floral arrangement caught his attention. There were several tokens of appreciation on the table –balloons, get-well cards, stuffed animals, and even Norway flags - but this arrangement dwarfed them all.

Instinctively, Gil knew who it was from: Dennis.

He, on the other had, had come empty-handed.

Gil grimaced at the realization, and Mama Asty noticed.

"Is there anything wrong, Doctor?" she asked.

He smiled. "Yes," he said softly. "You've been calling me 'Doctor'."

She winced.

"So have I," she said uncomfortably, "I know." She took a deep breath. "I can't call you Gil, anymore. You… You broke up with Greg."

Gil shook his head.

"He broke up with me."

* * *

TBC


	10. BUIHTD At a hospital Part 5

BUIHTD at a hospital

* * *

"He broke up with me," he said quietly, "He -"

He tried to say more, but a sudden constraint in his throat prevented him. He took a deep breath but to no avail; his throat hurt, and rather than subside, the pain spread to his chest in a searing wave that caught him unawares.

As a scientist, he was familiar with physical pain in all its forms –and he had the scars to prove it- but this was different, and he recognized it for what it was: a manifestation of grief.

He couldn't understand it; it wasn't as if he'd been in denial about the break-up; he and Greg were through and he'd known it for weeks. It was as if saying the words out loud –'he broke up with me'- had made it more real somehow. Suddenly, the enormity of the fact had struck him: Greg was really out of his life.

"Gil?"

He'd momentarily forgotten her. Astrid was looking at him, her eyes filled with concern. She tentatively reached for him but stopped short, just as if she were afraid of touching him.

"Are you all right?" she asked instead.

He nodded.

"I'm fine," he said. Scaring her was the last thing he wanted to do, yet there he was, acting as if he were having a heart attack. "I think I'm having a delayed reaction to the break-up," he said wearily.

"Then it wasn't you who…" She let the word trail off. "I don't understand it," she said, sincerely puzzled. "Greg seemed so sad; so disappointed. We all thought -"

"It wasn't me," Gil said quietly. But his innate sense of fair play intervened. "It was my fault," he said. "I don't think I gave him much of a choice."

"What happened?" she asked.

Grissom winced. He didn't expect her to ask. People rarely questioned him when it came to personal matters.

Taken by surprise, he found himself looking for an answer.

"I thought you loved him," she said.

"I did," he said quietly. 'I do,' he could have said but didn't. Those glorious weeks they'd spent together; those lazy mornings they'd spent in bed, making love or simply talking, and all the times they'd shared… They didn't matter. He'd been happy, yet even then he knew it would not last.

"I guess I didn't have any faith," he said, almost to himself. He raised his gaze after a moment. "I'd never loved anyone," he said. "I didn't really know what to do."

"All you had to do was love him. No," she amended, almost immediately. "No, it isn't that simple, is it? You did love Greg - I could see that. And he loved you."

Gil gulped. It hurt, hearing the words out aloud.

She was silent for a moment, then she looked up.

"Do you remember our Christmas party?"

Grissom frowned at the unexpected question. Greg's family had flown from all over the country to Las Vegas in the middle of December, ostensibly to celebrate Christmas, but also to celebrate Papa Olaf 85th birthday, still two months away.

Greg's aunts, uncles and cousins -handsome and lanky; brown-eyed on the Hodjems' side and blue-eyed on the Linstroms' side -dozens of them, reunited under one roof for a big, noisy party…

How could he forget?

"I remember," he said.

"Greg helped us plan the party," she confided; "That had never happened before. And he asked us to welcome you into the family -another first."

Grissom looked down. He did not want to hear this.

She didn't notice his discomfort.

"He wanted everything to be perfect," she mused, "He was so cheerful…" She was lost in thought for a moment. At last, she glanced at him, "I'm afraid we were a tad overenthusiastic in our welcome, Gil."

Grissom smiled a little. Overenthusiastic was right. Greg's aunts had hugged him as if he were some lost member of their family.

Never again would he think of Norwegians as icy or reserved. It was heart-warming –up to a point. Deep down –and this was something he never mentioned to Greg- he felt there was something forced about it.

He didn't say anything because, really, what did he know about family reunions? He and his mother barely saw each other in the years previous to her death, and as for family reunions… They never had one.

He was wholly unprepared for the reception he got from Greg's people.

"Would you believe we had the best intentions?" she said, "We were only trying to make you feel welcome."

"I knew that," Gil said gently. "I'm sorry if I seemed -"

"Panic-stricken?" she smiled. "Actually, you were quite charming, once the surprise wore off." She paused for a moment, as if she were choosing her next words with great care. "It wasn't until we met that you seemed to freeze."

Grissom winced.

He didn't recall being so... Transparent.

"You looked at me as if I reminded you of someone," Astrid said slowly. "And later, when I hugged you, I had the distinctive impression that you couldn't wait to get away from me."

Grissom was serious now. She was right. He'd simply stood there, arms hanging by his sides, useless, while she hugged him.

"I was hoping you'd say something," she said good-naturedly. "But you didn't. And then you avoided me the rest of the night."

Gil shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to -"

"To be so obvious?" she finished for him. She didn't seem resentful. She was merely stating facts. But her smile faded after a moment. "A month later, Greg told me you weren't seeing each other anymore. Since then, I've been wondering if the party had something to do with it. If I had something to do with it."

"No," he said kindly. "You didn't. It was… It was my fault. I used to be so bewildered by the intricacies of the relationship," he mused. "I just didn't -" he paused. "I don't have the patience to deal with them."

"I don't believe you," she said softly. She was looking closely at him now. "There must be something else bothering you. I wish you'd tell me," she added wistfully. "If you did, then maybe I could do something. I could talk to Greg, or -"

She stopped abruptly, as she'd suddenly realized what she was saying. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. "I ask too many questions, don't I?"

"It's all right," he muttered.

"I wish I were like Nana Olaf," she sighed. "She would have immediately known what the matter was. She was very perceptive; she instinctively knew what people around her were thinking… or grieving for. I, on the other hand, need things to be spelled out clearly to understand."

Grissom looked at her with interest. In just a few words she had revealed what being Olaf Hodjem's second wife was like. She'd lived under the shadow of a revered, almost mythical figure all these years…

It couldn't have been easy for her.

He felt sorry.

"You are perceptive," he said kindly. "You noticed I was uncomfortable, the night we met. I don't think anyone else knew."

She blinked.

"Greg was right," she said after a moment. "You do know what to say to make people feel better about themselves." She smiled. "He said it was one of your best traits."

Grissom smiled a little at this.

He looked down.

"I didn't say it to make you feel better," he said. "You were right all along; you did remind me of someone."

* * *

TBC


End file.
